


School of Hard Knocks

by RenkonNairu



Series: One Sky Continuity [1]
Category: Sky High (2005)
Genre: Abusive Father, Abusive Parents, Gen, High School, Prequel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-13
Updated: 2020-04-13
Packaged: 2021-03-02 05:40:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,809
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23639995
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RenkonNairu/pseuds/RenkonNairu
Summary: Barron Battle and Steve Stronghold's senior year of high school.
Relationships: Barron Battle & Original Character(s), Barron Battle & Steve Stronghold, Barron Battle & Su Tenny | Gwen Grayson
Series: One Sky Continuity [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1306427
Comments: 2
Kudos: 22





	School of Hard Knocks

**-May 1978-**

Rain beat down against the barred windows. Every now and again, a flash of lighting would shine outside, so bright the bars cast eerie lines across the lobby floor. Only to be followed by the far-off rumbling of thunder. The space between the lightning and the thunder was getting wider. The storm was passing. 

Turning the page of his magazine, the motel attendant took another bite of his sandwich. The graveyard shift was always the least eventful. 

More light slid past the windows outside. Not more lightning, a truck pulling into the parking lot. The motel attendant didn’t even look up when the lobby door banged open. 

The figure standing in the doorway was tall. Easily six feet. Clothing and hair soaking and plastered to him, showing muscled but lean shoulders, a plaid flannel shirt dripping off them. Glasses hiding his eyes were rain-speckled and fogged. He left a trail of soggy carpet behind him as he stomped across the lobby to the check in counter. 

Not even looking up, the attendant took another bite of his sandwich and turned the page of his magazine. “One room, one bed twenty bucks a night.” He said. “Wake-up call and breakfast is extra.”

Reaching into his pocket, the visitor pulled out a water-logged twenty-dollar bill and plopped it down on the counter. 

Sighing, the motel attendant stood from his stool and selected a key off the wall behind him. Sliding the wet bill off the counter, he passed the key to the customer, getting a clear look at his face for the first time. 

He had taken his glasses off and was wiping them on his wet flannel shirt –and only succeeding in moving the water around. 

Without the lenses hiding his eyes, it was clear that he was just a kid! A teenager. Seventeen, maybe as old as eighteen. The hair plastered to the sides of his head and neck was longish and dark brown, very messy and naturally curly. The eyes were just as dark as the hair. A rich dark brown. Brown like the earth, or the deep woods. The nose was straight and the brows and cheeks chiseled. He might have been a good looking kid if he didn’t look quite so angry. 

“What the hell happened to you?” The motel attendant heard himself ask. 

The kid swiped the room key out of his hand. 

“Don’t ask.” He growled, in a voice that carried more experience than any kid his age should have. “You don’t want to know.”

…

**-September 1977-**

Booted feet barely made a sound as they ran through the woods. 

Getting in a little morning exercise. Running after the herd. 

Not to hunt, just to run. 

Between the trees and over streams. Heading farther up the mountain. Every now and again he would catch a glimpse of a retreating white tail and he knew he was keeping good pace with the herd. Barron might not be a speedster; super-speed was not his power. But he was keeping himself fit and in-shape, and on his own he was fast enough to keep pace with wild deer. 

Ahead of him he saw the hind legs of a doe extend like a spring. Propelling the animal into a long jump. 

That was the only warning he had before the ground suddenly ended, and Barron had to grab frantically at a tree branch to keep himself from falling down a sheer cliff wall. Flight was not his superpower either. 

Using both hands to climb onto the branch, he straddled it, and peered across the chasm at the herd. 

They had apparently stopped their gallop and were now meandering between the trees. The does reaching up to bite the lower hanging branches and drag them down for their fawns to graze on. 

A stag patrolled between them, keeping watch of the perimeter, making sure the herd was safe. 

An all white stag. Coat an alabaster so pure it would make fine china blush. Large and well-muscled. Healthy and strong. With red eyes that shone like rubies set in his porcelain face. His antlers were white too, and be must have been old because the antlers were tall and wide, with many multiple points. 

The stag glared at Barron from across the chasm, as if daring the human to jump. To chase them. To attack them. To hunt them. Because the White Stag would be ready for him. The White Stag would protect his heard. The White Stag would not hesitate to stain his pure white antlers with Barron’s blood if he made himself a threat to the stag’s family. 

Barron met the White Stag’s crimson gaze. Matching the animal’s glare. As if to remind the stag that he lived in these mountains too. He had just as much right to be there. 

Not that any such clear and defined understanding passed between them. Speaking or communicating with animals was not Barron’s super power either. 

He didn’t know how long he perched there. Eyes locked with the stag. 

Long enough for the sun to climb higher in the sky, burning off the morning chill in the mountain air that reminded Barron that autumn was still at war with summer for the turn of the season. As much as he wanted to stay in the wood forever, the summer was ending. He could not continue to act wild, in the wild. He had to take off his leathers, put on his polyesters, and return to the world of Man. 

Barron climbed down from the tree and made his way back home. 

If his father had to come looking for him the Old Bastard would be angry. Barron did not want to make the Old Bastard angry. 

Soft leather boots sliding across raised tree roots of the forest floor. Barely making any noise. Moving just as quickly as he did when he was trying to keep pace with the herd. Moving down the slopes back to his family’s cottage. 

He smelled his mother’s herb garden before he came into the clearing. 

It was a small two story building. With a stone exterior. A door off the kitchen opening up onto the herb garden. A perimeter of white stones forming an almost perfect circle around the structure. The driveway on the opposite side was also lined in white stones. 

Coming out of the woods, Barron sat down on the porch to pull off his boots before heading inside. He did not want to make more of a mess for his mother to have to clean up, and the Old Bastard hated it when there was dirt in the house. 

His mother was just laying breakfast out on the table when he walked in. 

Scrambled eggs, fried steak, potato hash, pancakes, bran flakes, and sliced fruit. 

“Looks great, Mama!” Barron assured her. He was about to sit down at the table and tuck into the feast –which was a pretty standard breakfast in the Battle household- school never offered a spread like this in the cafeteria!

But his mother stopped him before he could sit down. Glaring her son up and down, noting the leaves in his hair, the smudges on his face, the scuff marks on his leather tunic-vest. “Go wash up first.” She commanded instead. “Before your father sees you.”

Keeping the child clean was supposed to be her job. Not that Barron was much of a child anymore. He was seventeen and starting his senior year of high school. But if Barron couldn’t keep himself clean at the age of seventeen, then it was because she failed to teach him how. Hardwin Battle did not have patience for people who couldn’t do their jobs right and he did not show leniency or favor. Not even to his own wife. 

Knowing this just as well as she did, Barron nodded without saying anything and ran upstairs. 

The cottage by no means large. But it was two floors. With kitchen, living room, home-office, half-bathroom, and foyer on the first floor. Upstairs was his parents bed room, Barron’s bedroom, the Old Bastard’s armory where he kept his weapons and armor, and the second floor bathroom. 

It was the second floor bathroom that Barron went to. 

Unbuckling the straps on the sides of his leather tunic, Barron peeled it off over his head. He pulled off his socks, pants, and undershirt too, and stepped into the shower. It had to be a quick shower. It was a school day and he had a bus to catch. He rubbed himself down quickly. Didn’t even bother with soap. Just a quick rinse. He only shampooed his hair because it made the leaves easier to slide out. 

Stepping out and wrapping a towel around his waist, Barron gathered up his leathers, and cracked the bathroom door open and peeked out to make sure the Old Bastard was not walking down the hall at that exact moment. 

Reassured that he wasn’t about to bump into his father, Barron dashed to his bedroom. The sound of the door slamming behind him the only evidence that he left it in the first place. 

Toweling off his hair quickly, Barron pulled an undershirt on before sliding a large collared polyester shirt with a loud print on over his shoulders. Clean underwear. High waisted slacks. And a pair of black Chelsea-style short boots. That done, he left his room again and made his way back downstairs. 

The Old Bastard was sitting at the breakfast table by the time Barron got down there. A napkin tucked into his collar to protect his sweater vest from the fried steak he was shoving into his mouth. 

“About time you woke up.” The Old Bastard muttered. “When I was your age, we had to wake up before the sun, or else nothing got done.”

‘Yeah, well, things were different now than they were a thousand years ago back in the Olde Country.’ Barron thought. Out loud he said, “I’ll do better tomorrow, sir.”

His mother set a fresh mug of coffee down next to the Old Bastard’s plate. “Hardy, he works so hard. Between school and your training, I think we can let him sleep in once in a while.”

The corners of his mouth turned downwards with displeasure. The Old Bastard did not appreciate being argued with in his own home. 

Barron held his breath. Muscles going tight like springs in case he had to move quickly to get between his parents if his father decided Mama needed to be reminded who was in charge of this household. 

Instead, the Old Bastard took a long sip of his coffee and chose to ignore his wife all together. He fixed his son with a stern glare. “You will be ready for school by the time I leave for work. Or else you will not get dropped off at the bus stop.”

“Yes, sir.” Barron nodded, glad his father decided to end the subject peaceably. The Old Bastard must be having a good morning. 

Hardwin Battle drove a Datson 620 pickup truck and he kept it very clean. The interior looked almost factory new, the only thing betraying its age was the lack of ‘new car smell’ and its radio. Most every other car Barron had ever been in came already equipped with a cassette player, but his father’s truck did not. Barron was careful to shake his shoes off before climbing into the truck, lest he make the Old Bastard upset. 

Barron and Hardwin did not talk during the drive. Hardwin did not enjoy talking while he was driving, and Barron had nothing to say that he thought his father might listen to. 

It was a short drive down to the bus stop. 

A little nothing of a bend in the highway that lead down the mountain. There wasn’t even a bench. Just a sad, lonely little sign with a picture of a bus on it. Bedlam Unincorporated only had one school, K-12, and so they only had one bus that made a circuit of the mountain and all the outlying houses that called it home. But Barron did not go to school in Bedlam. He got on a different bus. The only other bus that knew his bus stop even existed. 

He ignored the curious glances from the only other person who waited at his bus stop –Darryl Law, the Sherriff’s son, they were not friends, but Darryl’s father was friends with Barron’s father so they knew of each other. Bedlam was the only town this far up, and Bedlam only had the one school. So where was the other bus from? Where did the Battle’s kid go to school since he clearly didn’t go with everyone else. The next closest school was down in Maxville!

Barron sometimes wanted to roll his eyes. 

It was comically absurd. The secret about his school. 

Barron was the only person on the bus aside from the driver. Bedlam being the first stop on its rout. Even so, Barron took a seat all the way in the back. He leaned against the window, looking at Darryl Law still waiting for the broken down Bedlam school bus to putter by. Making sure they made eye-contact, Barron flashed the other boy a smug smile before the bus pulled away. 

From Bedlam, the bus went down into Maxville. Stopping in South Side, East Ridge, West End, Maxville Adjacent, two separate stops in Valor Heights, and three stops up in the Maxville Crest. Barron glared at each and every kid as they got on the bus. Making sure to project nothing but hostility so that no one would sit next to him. He did not appreciate strangers accidentally brushing against him when the bus went airborne. 

At the last stop in East Ridge, a girl got on the bus, saw that there were no seats anywhere else, and plopped down in the back next to Barron. 

He glared at her reproachfully. Did she not notice his whole passively-hostile aura? “Do you mind?”

“Not at all.” She shook her head. 

Barron only continued to glare. He didn’t recognize her, and she looked quite a bit younger than him, so she had to be a freshman. She was a tiny little thing, not even five feet tall. With hair so red it looked almost fake, and face that was so covered in acne pimples that it was hard to see the natural olive tone of her skin underneath them. 

“I was sitting here.” He informed her. 

She looked him up and down, hazel eyes taking in his chelsea boots, high-waist slacks, polyester shirt with its large collar, and a messenger-style bag instead of a backpack. She couldn’t help but notice that her sitting next to him hadn’t caused him to move any. 

“You’re still sitting there.” She pointed out. Then promptly turned her head to look out the window and ignore him. 

Barron was going to snap back with some kind of witty comeback. But he was cut off by extra seat belts and crash restraints suddenly popping out from the seat and wrapping themselves around him. They were pulled tight and all the air was squeezed out of him. That was the only warning any of the students got before the bus shot off into the air. 

Climbing in altitude. Above the clouds. 

To a floating fortress. 

Held up by repulsorlifts. A piece of technology gifted to the school by the famous superhero, American Alien, and adapted for compatibility with the existing earthling technology of the time. The compound floated above Maxville, hidden in the clouds where the locals couldn’t see it. 

A wide, flat semi-circle of grass, around a stout looking building, all paneled in chrome. The majority of the actual campus, the classrooms, gymnasium, the labs, lockers, and so on, were under the grassy lawn. Multiple levels sandwiched between the lawn and the repulsorlifts. 

The bus landed in a small strip on the main platform with landing lines painted on it. Landing lines that formed into the normal and mundane lines of parking spaces for the busses. 

The crash restraints unclasped themselves and retracted back into the seats. 

All the students filed out. 

Barron was the last to get out, not wanting to have to push through everyone else to get to the door. Finally, he stepped out onto the campus of his absurdly secret school. 

A school for young people with superpowers and the children of superheroes. That was why Barron Battle was even attending. He could have gotten along just find going to school in Bedlam with the power that he had. It was passive and non-invasive. But, Barron’s father, Hardwin Battle, the Old Bastard, was also the hero called Paladin. And Paladin insisted his son go to school for heroes. 

That was why Barron went here. 

To Sky High.


End file.
